


You're the One I Want (To Want Me)

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sales, Car dealership, CoWorkers to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim Kirk faces a professional setback, his roommate offers him a chance for a major change. It's a new career and a new path for Jim, but what's most interesting of all is his Sales Manager...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I think a change will do you good

**Author's Note:**

> So okay. I have no idea why it's taken me almost a decade to write an AU like this, considering it's also been almost a decade I spent working in this industry. I've done almost everything you can in a car dealership except for the mechanic end of things. 
> 
> Consider this an office romance except the office is a dealership. Also everything that happens here has happened to me or a coworker. It's...an interesting, sometimes rewarding, often emotionally draining job. (We call it getting beat up, because sometimes people who buy cars basically end up emotionally traumatizing us.)
> 
> The title is from a song by Jason Derulo.
> 
> I'd apologize for Jim's taste in music, but it'd be untruthful and insincere. Mention of past Jim/Gaila btw.
> 
> Oh! If you like this, please leave a comment or a kudos! You can also find me at [my tumblr!](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com)

When Jim Kirk has a bad day, he pulls out an ancient CD binder and puts one of its many gems into the DVD player. Then he pulls out the gallon of ice cream, the giant McDonald’s fries he got on the way home, and he opens a bottle of red wine, usually a Malbec.

His roommate, Gaila, knows this routine really well by now so when she enters the apartment at 9:37 PM in her heels, pencil skirt, and silk blouse, she stands in the doorway.

_I’ll be there with a love that’s strong! I’ll be your strength...I’ll keep holdin’ on!_

It’s a Mariah Carey’s _Unplugged_ night, which means Jim is at about a nine out of ten for depression. Gaila takes off one heel at a time, and Jim looks at her from the couch where he’s in his gold snuggie, old plaid pants, and golden retriever slippers. “Hi,” he says.

Gaila’s blue eyes hold sympathy. “Did someone die, Jim?” 

“Only my dignity,” Jim replies. He sighs, dips a fry in the chocolate ice cream, and swigs the wine out of the bottle.

Gaila holds up a finger, walks to her bedroom suite, and ten minutes later she reappears in a pair of terry cloth shorts and a Gwen Stefani t-shirt with her hair in a ponytail and her make-up washed off. She sits next to Jim and steals a fry. “Tell me.”

“What am I doing with my life?” he asks in between bites. The fries are always dipped in the ice cream. They’ve lived together for nine months, and he doesn’t miss the look Gaila still has when he does this: fascinated horror.

Gaila tucks her legs up under her. “Was work bad?”

Jim waits tables at an upscale Italian restaurant. He made four grand cash in the month of December. Granted, January and February were less fruitful as that money came from private holiday parties. No one eats out from December 31 until February 14 because the holidays break the bank, but he’d been smart and saved the money. 

As much of it as he could, anyhow.

He applied to be the new Front of House manager.

“I didn’t get it,” he tells Gaila. “Viktor got it because of seniority. SENIORITY. What a crock of shit. I work way harder and upsell way more. I’m better at pairing wines, too.”

Gaila puts her arm around him. “Aw, Jim. I know that meant a lot to you. I’m so sorry.”

“Three years,” Jim continues. “Three years in that place. I know everything, the other servers respect me...what am I doing at a place that won’t reward hard work? Why does Viktor get rewarded for mediocrity because he’s been there three months longer than me?”

“Because bullshit, that’s why,” replies Gaila. “I’m luckier than most people. My job actually does function as a meritocracy.”

Gaila works in an accounting office for a trio of car dealerships. She’s the reason the sales people, managers, mechanics, et cetera get paid every month. She loves her job, but it’s going on the tenth which is why she was at the office so late.

The tenth is commission day, and it’s the eighth. She always pulls long hours on the eighth because it’s the day she gives the sales people their commission sheets, which means corrections. The tenth involves Gaila coming home with a pizza and a bottle of champagne. The pizza is usually a white pizza with no tomatoes or spinach. On one occasion, anchovies were added. 

Gaila looks thoughtful. Then she brightens. “We’re hiring.”

“I’m not an accountant,” Jim points out. He has no formal college education aside from the odd community college class here or there. He’s worked full time since he was nineteen and decided college wasn’t for him. 

“No, we’re hiring sales people,” Gaila clarifies. “Since Chris opened that third dealership, and Honda does better and better every month, he needs more people. And I guarantee you’ll make more money than you do as a server.”

More money would be nice, Jim muses as he finishes the fries. Gaila gets herself a glass and helps herself to the wine. There’s not much they don’t share food and drink wise or at all. They had sex for a while too, but that stopped six weeks ago. Jim’s not sure, but he thinks Gaila may have a special someone now. 

She’s not home as much, at least.

“I have something of an in with the GM,” Gaila continues. “Give me your resume, and I’ll at least get you an interview.”

“Yeah okay,” Jim says. Why not? It’s worth a shot.

He goes to put away the ice cream when Gaila slaps his hand and shows off the spoon she grabbed with the wine glass. Jim snorts as the CD ends. He picks up another from the binder, putting away Mariah. It’s _The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill_ on shuffle, and the first song that plays is “Ex-Factor.”

Gaila’s expression sours, causing Jim to roll his eyes. “Shuffle is a capricious mistress, you know this.”

Gaila shrugs and licks ice cream off her spoon. “You’re a maudlin thirteen year old girl trapped in the nineties.”

“Stop oppressing me,” Jim retorts with a scowl.

Snorting, Gaila rolls her eyes. “Search your feelings, you know it to be true.”

“Sure, Darth Gaila,” Jim says. There’s only a little left in the bottle so he chugs it like a savage. “I’m going to bed. I’m off tomorrow, but I have a bunch of errands to get done.”

“Email me your resume, Jim,” Gaila reminds him.

“Yup, I’ll do it right now,” Jim says with ease. Their apartment is a two bedroom, two bathroom with a den and an alarm system. In the den are their desks, with Gaila’s up against a wall leading into their laundry room, and Jim’s underneath the window. He sits at his laptop and emails Gaila his resume to her work email. 

Then he goes into his room, which is the front master suite. He has thick curtains in case of his migraines (allergy related), a queen sized bed in an Ikea frame, and a large chest of drawers. A walk-in closet holds his work clothes and shirts. Jim likes his apartment, and he’s grateful everyday that Craigslist led him to it and Gaila. It’s close to his job too, which is a bonus. 

Jim turns on his white noise machine and takes off the snuggie. He curls up in bed and drifts off to sleep. 

_\-----_

The next day Jim is in the middle of Pottery Barn trying to determine if he really needs the embroidered bath towels or not when his cellphone rings. It’s a local number he doesn’t recognize. “Hello, Jim Kirk.”

 _Jim? This is Christopher Pike from Enterprise Imports. How are you doing today?_ comes a friendly man’s voice. 

That was quick.

“I’m well, thanks,” Jim answers. “You?”

 _Great,_ he answers. _Listen, I’ll cut to the chase. Gaila gave me your resume, and I think you’d be a great fit for my organization. Do you have time this week to meet face-to-face?_

“Uh...” Jim has to think. He’s not on lunch shifts anymore. “Yes, I can as long as it’s before three.”

 _Perfect,_ Pike says. _This is a bit of a process...you’ll do three in person interviews, one with me, one with the GSM at Honda, and one with the Sales Manager of the store I’m hiring for. Provided you pass all of these we’ll do a background check and a driving record check, along with a drug test. Can you pass those things?_

“Um I have a speeding ticket I got in March,” Jim answers.

Pike laughs. _Speeding tickets are fine. We’re concerned with DUIs._

“Oh yeah, I don’t have any of those. I just use Lyft when I go out drinking.” Jim decides yes on the towels as they are simultaneously His Brand and His Aesthetic. They’re also on sale, and he’s wanted to upgrade. They get put in the basket looped over his arm.

_Well, how is tomorrow at ten? Does that work for you? You’ll be meeting me at the new dealership in the Automall off 64, it’s a Pre-Owned store._

“Yeah that sounds good,” Jim answers. He admires a wall mirror for a second, but the price is outrageous. “I’ll be there.”

 _Great! See you then._ Pike hangs up, and Jim smiles. He thinks this may be just what he needs, a dramatic change. Maybe there’s real room for growth, too, unlike what was promised him by Robert April at Tavola Rossa. 

Jim pays for his towels, grabs lunch at Panera, and finishes the rest of his errands. He goes home and picks out a shirt and tie to wear to his interview. It’s July which means the weather sucks, but at least he doesn’t have to wear a suit. 

He makes dinner that night to have for meals before going into work too: a modified easy version of a cacio e pepe with lemon, bacon, and arugula. He sets aside a covered plate for Gaila in their microwave. Then he decides to binge watch How to Get Away With Murder, preparing for all of the shocking twists of the Keating Five.

It’s going on eleven when Gaila hasn’t come home, so Jim puts her plate in the fridge, leaving her a note, and he heads to bed. The Automall is about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes with traffic from their apartment, so he sets his alarm for 8:30 to leave by 9:25.

Anxiety keeps him awake long enough he takes a shot of Zzzquill and finally passes out.

_\-----_

Jim drives to highway 64 and turns left towards the Autopark. He sees Acura, Jeep, Porsche, Jaguar.

But no Pre-Owned or Honda.

Jim drives around in circles for eight minutes. He risks being late at this rate, so he texts Gaila. _Where the hell is this place?_

_We’re in the back, behind Porsche._

Jim drives all the way around Porsche to its back and sees another road with more dealerships. He also feels like a gigantic tool. There’s Honda, Volkswagen, Mercedes-Benz, Smart Car, and then a building with nothing on it. He pulls up to the building with nothing on it. He parks his Civic and gets out of the car.

There’s a guy in a Honda polo and a pair of slacks standing by the front door. He’s friendly with carefully coiffed (and tall) black hair. He starts walking to Jim with a smile. “Why hello! How are you today?”

Jim is briefly taken aback before he realizes he’s a salesperson. “Hi. I’m here to meet with Christopher Pike.”

The guy doesn’t stop smiling, which is nice. “Oh you’re his interview. I’ll let him know you’re here,” the guy says. “Come on into the AC, it’s too hot to stand out here.”

Jim follows him through a door into a sitting area with a fridge full of water bottles and a TV turned to MSNBC. The guy hands Jim a water, taking one for himself. Jim accepts it with a nod of thanks. There’s a glass wall opposite them, and on the other side is an office. There are two computers with chairs and a striking woman sits at one of the desks. Her long, dark hair is up in a high ponytail, and she wears a red dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. 

Jim stares at her for a second before being shown to an office on the sales floor. The floor consists of a dozen desks, each with a PC tower and monitor as well as a fancy multi-line phone. There are filing cabinets and large overhead cubbies, presumably for personal effects. There’s a man in the office speaking on a Samsung Galaxy with salt and pepper hair, piercing blue eyes, and a custom tailored suit with a Hermes tie. “No, that’s fine,” he says, and Jim recognizes his voice. “Long as it gets here on the approved date, I’ll spare no expense." He hangs up, and looks at the guy and Jim. “Ah, Hikaru,” he says. “Who is this?”

“This is your ten o’clock, boss,” Hikaru answers with a grin. 

“Excellent,” Pike stands from his desk to shake Jim’s hand. “Jim Kirk?”

“Yes,” Jim says with a smile. Pike gestures for him to take a seat, and he does. Hikaru leaves with a wink in Jim’s direction.

“So basically,” Pike begins. “This process is primarily a formality. Gaila says you’d be good, and frankly, that’s enough for me. However, our CEO won’t let me just hire you on the spot. Marcus INC. has a process so I apologize, but this is going to be a bit unnecessarily drawn out.”

Jim’s mouth drops open. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before, and he doesn’t know what to say. “I---”

“Oh don’t be modest,” Pike says. “Gaila told me about your sales and proficiency at the restaurant. This isn’t any different. Besides, I can tell just by looking at you that I like you. And she’s told me you work hard and don’t roll over. What’s more to know?”

Jim blinks. “Uh well...will I get...PTO? And insurance? I don’t currently have insurance through work, it’s through the ACA---”

“Paid vacation after the first anniversary starting with one week. Two weeks on the second. Three weeks on the fifth. We do comprehensive medical, dental, and vision insurance.”

Jim inwardly exalts because he can tell his contact lens prescription is a hair out of date. He can stand a new pair of glasses, too.

“We also do 401K and profit sharing, matching up to five percent of your pre-tax income,” Pike continues. “Marcus is a good company; we take care of each other. Also, you get one Saturday off a month, and when you take a Saturday, you get to leave work at two on Friday. We’re closed on Sundays.”

Weekends...off? Actual weekends off? Weekends off with no guilt because of missing those sweet Friday and Saturday night rushes?

“Your shift will be 9-5 or 11-8 alternating days,” Pike continues. “We have a sales meeting every Friday morning at 8:30, so if you’re scheduled ‘til eight that day, I won’t lie...your life will suck.”

“I work doubles a lot, it’s fine,” Jim says.

“Good,” Pike answers. “How’s your schedule for today?”

“I don’t have to be into work until four,” Jim says. “So I’m good until about 2:30.”

Pike picks up his phone again. He dials someone in his contacts. “Phil? How’s it going at Honda? You free for a second interview?” Jim can’t hear the reply. “Perfect. I’m sending him over to you right now.” He hangs up and grins at Jim. “Go across the street, ask for Phil Boyce. He’s Honda’s GSM.”

Pike stands, extending a hand, and Jim follows suit, giving it a shake. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again,” says Jim with a smile.

“You will for sure,” says Pike. He hands Jim his business card. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Jim says as he pockets the card and exits the office. Hikaru is talking to a guy with a very severe haircut in a blue polo with the VW logo. The guy looks super serious, like maybe he doesn’t understand what the word _fun_ means, but Jim pays it little mind as he heads to his car. Hikaru waves goodbye with a grin. 

Jim elects to drive since it’s surface of the sun hot, and he parks in the row for customers. There’s a ton of people milling about by the front door, and Jim wonders how customers don’t get scared off. “Uh,” he says as four of them start to walk up to him. “I’m here to see Phil Boyce.”

A guy with a cigarette in his mouth stubs it out on the ashtray by the door. “I’ll show you to him,” he says. “Name’s Ricky, by the way.”

“Jim Kirk,” Jim says. Ricky shows him into another glass room, this time with four desks with computers and more filing cabinets. A conference room is off the back with phones and headsets at every desk. Jim wonders what that’s for when a man with silver hair and eyes to match stands. 

“Hi, Jim Kirk?” he asks. 

“Uh, yeah, are you Boyce?” Jim smiles. 

“I most certainly am, come with me,” Boyce says as he pulls Jim into an office with a door. He turns on the lights, and Jim sits down. “So you’re interested in joining the wide world of car sales.”

“Yes sir,” Jim says. “My roommate works in your accounting office...Gaila? She told me you were hiring. I need a change from my current line of work, and I want something where I can maybe grow in it.”

“Oh Gaila’s great,” Boyce says. “We all love her. Especially Chris.”

“Yeah, she’s hard not to love,” Jim answers with a smile. “She knows I need a change, and she said she’s sure I’ll make more money. I’d be lying if I said money isn’t a motivator.”

“You can definitely make a good living,” Boyce answers. “It’s surprising sometimes. A lot of people get taken aback by their first checks. We take the taxes out for you, too. Did Chris explain how the pay scale works?”

“No,” Jim answers. It’s the truth.

“Okay so...you get paid minimum wage hourly. Then you get commission on top of your hourly pay. The more cars you sell, the higher your commission on top of your hourly pay. For example, you get thirteen percent at Pre-Owned for the first six cars you sell. Then starting with car seven, you get eighteen percent. Then at ten cars, you get twenty percent. All the way up to twenty-eight percent. Of course your hourly wages, called your draw, come out against your commission, but if for some reason you don’t make enough to cover your draw, we don’t make you pay it back.”

So he’d at least have something to live on. That was better than how little money he made in January and him running through his savings to make rent.

Though he and Gaila bought each other iPhones for Christmas.

“Tell me something, Jim,” Boyce says, bringing him out of his reverie. “Give me a time you faced a customer service issue and how you resolved it.”

This is fairly easy. “I wait tables at an upscale restaurant by Green Valley mall. One day we had a private party come in, and I was the only one waiting on them---it was a pharma rep doing a presentation for a group of local doctors. Well one of the doctors has Celiac’s, and we’re an Italian restaurant. So I had to guide her through the menu in order to find something that worked for her dietary needs that also didn’t pose the risk of cross contamination. I met with our chef, and I had him make a special salmon dish with spinach for her. No gluten in any of it. She was very pleased with my fortitude and the dish itself. She actually slipped me some cash even though the pharma rep had given me 18 percent.”

Boyce nods. “Impressive.”

“Yeah, food restrictions are no joke,” Jim says. “The last thing I want is to harm a customer. The money I make is second to taking care of people.”

Boyce rests his hand on his chin. A large smile forms on his face. “You know what, Jim? That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time in one of these interviews. I think you’ll do just great here.”

Jim straightens. “Oh. Oh good.” He grins, a dazzling one that makes Boyce’s own grow brighter.

“I’m going to tell Pike we’re all good on my end,” Boyce says. “But you still need to meet with Leonard.”

“Is he the Sales Manager at Pre-Owned?” Jim asks.

“Yeah, Leonard McCoy,” Boyce replies. “Though I think he’s off today.”

“I can come back tomorrow before work,” Jim answers.

“That could---” Boyce’s cell rings. He looks at the caller ID. “Hang on a second, Jim. It’s Pike.” He answers it. “Yeah?” A pause. “Oh he is? On such short notice?” Another pause. “Okay I’ll send him back over. He’s a good egg, Chris. He’ll do great.” Boyce hangs up. “You’re in luck. Len swung by the office. He’s waiting for you back at Pre-Owned.”

Jim swallows. Bouncing back and forth so much is almost enough to make his head spin. “Sure. I should go back and interview with him?”

“Yeah, you’ve got my seal of approval,” Boyce said. “Go meet Leonard. He’s the last gatekeeper.” He stands, Jim does too, and they shake hands. “Looking forward to working with you, Jim.”

“Thanks, Phil.” Jim grins and heads out of the office---the Honda floor is noisy, full of salespeople in Honda polos sitting at desks either on the phone or working with customers. Jim watches the activity for a moment before getting back in his car and driving back to Pre-Owned. 

This time the guy with the super serious haircut is outside. He inclines his head in a nod to Jim. “Greetings,” he says. “You have returned to interview with Leonard?”

His speech is incredibly formal. “Uh, yeah.” Jim sees a Ducati parked outside of the building on the sidewalk under an awning. It wasn’t there earlier. 

“Very well,” the guy says. “He is in Pike’s office and is expecting you.”

“Thanks,” says Jim as he enters the air conditioning again. It’s almost capable of knocking him down, he thinks, compared to the humid hot soup that is outside. 

Jim heads back to the office where this time, as it’s after eleven, he sees a ginger haired woman talking to Hikaru. He also sees an older guy who’s in his forties with red hair talking to them both. The guy’s in a polo and a pair of plaid pants, and Jim realizes there is probably a dress code. The ginger haired woman is in a pair of black slacks, comfortable looking flats, and a blue blouse with short sleeves. 

Jim enters the office, where his walk slows then stops outright.

There’s a man with his back to him shrugging off motorcycle leathers. His dark brown hair is mussed from the helmet on the desk, which is black and red, and he’s wearing a tight navy blue t-shirt that shows off the muscles in his back and arms. He’s wearing jeans on his lower half, and they’re worn in, hugging his incredible ass with relish. 

Jim is utterly dumbfounded, because this guy just raised his Kinsey number two whole notches with only his back. 

The guy turns around and...oh no, this is devastating! The guy is extremely chiseled with a super manly jaw, the right amount of stubble, Cupid’s bow lips, and those eyes---his eyes are this amazing cross between green, brown, and hazel---Jim’s never seen anything at all like them in his life. He mentally increases the Kinsey number another two notches just for the eyes. 

So now Jim’s gone from “bisexual” to “Women? What are those?” because of this guy’s unfairly handsome face.

What a world.

The guy smiles. “You Jim?”

Jim blinks four times, stunned by the sexiness in that Southern twang. Then he realizes he was asked a question. “Oh. Kirk, Jim Kirk.” 

“Leonard McCoy,” the guy says as he extends a hand. Jim shakes it, lingering a bit. He can’t help himself.

Leonard gestures for him to take a seat, and he does, knowing the routine at this point. Jim ensures he’s making eye contact and not staring, but it’s hard. He wants to creep all over him followed by climbing him like a tree.

“So Pike and Boyce say you’re great,” Leonard says. “Boyce seems to think you’d be a fine addition here at Pre-Owned.” Leonard looks him up and down, and as much as Jim wishes otherwise, it’s professional. “I have only one question to ask.”

“Sure,” Jim says.

“What matters more to you? The person or the sale?” Leonard’s eyebrow rises up towards his hair. 

Jim wipes his palms off on his pants. “The person. The sale means nothing if they’re unhappy.”

Leonard nods. “You passed.”

Jim exhales, not having realized how anxious he was. 

“I’m gonna give you the drug test form and send you to LabCorp,” Leonard continues. “And there’s some paperwork we have to give you for the background check. We’re going to check your credit report, too, FYI.”

“That’s fine,” Jim answers. He’ll pass it.

Leonard hands him a stack of forms and a sheet with directions for the LabCorp site. Jim fills out the paperwork, Leonard leaving him alone to do so. Jim checks the time on his cell---he should be able to do the drug test and make his shift at the restaurant. He fills out everything, shaking out the cramps in his left hand, then hands the papers to Leonard. 

Leonard skims them. “You’ve only lived in this state for three years?”

“Yeah, I’m from Iowa,” Jim answers. “Came here to try something new three years ago. Plus the winters are better here.”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet,” Leonard says with a smirk. “I’m from Georgia myself. Came here for college and never left. Once you pass the drug test, we’ll do the background checks. Yours may take a while since we go back ten years---I don’t know that we’ve ever dealt with Iowa before.”

“I have to give two weeks anyhow,” Jim says. “I owe my current job that.”

“Fair enough,” Leonard says with a nod. He stands again, Jim following suit, and he smiles with a gruff edge. “Welcome aboard.”

Jim shakes his hand for the second time, and he walks out with a bright grin. He gets in his car, turning on the engine, and he plugs his phone into the aux cable to play from his Spotify. Nelly Furtado and Timbaland blares as Jim opens the sunroof and rolls down the windows.

_What’s the problem---I don’t see no ring on your hand. I’ll be the first to admit it, I’m curious about you, you seem so innocent!_

He drives to LabCorp, sunglasses on, pep in his step. It’s a new dawn.


	2. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually how you sell a car at a reputable dealership! I hope it's not boring or tedious.
> 
> I'm grateful for the response I got to the first chapter! If you like it, please comment or kudos. You can also follow me on [my tumblr](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Thanks for reading again!

Jim’s alarm is set for 7:15 am. It’s the earliest he’s had to get up in years, and he spends a lot of the night tossing and turning. He’s nervous and excited, getting up before the alarm. He goes ahead and showers, dresses in a shirt and tie with a pair of black pants, and has so much time he makes himself and Gaila a big breakfast. Ricotta pancakes with lemon curd, bacon, and he busts out the Breville for some fresh squeezed juice. 

There’s also coffee, and Jim sits and eats with the style section of the newspaper. Gaila comes out dressed and pressed in a green dress with gold gingko leaves embroidered on it. She wears a pair of nude heels, and Jim notices as she gets her plate that they have a certain trademarked red sole. “Nice shoes,” he says between bites.

“They were a gift,” Gaila answers as she sets her plate down with a smile. 

That is some gift. 

More than anything Jim wants to ask who would give Gaila a pair of six-hundred-dollar shoes. More to the point, who can _afford_ to give her the Louboutins? Inquiring minds want to know. 

Instead, he drains his coffee. 

Gaila finishes her food and gives him a grin and a wink. She’s due in before him, so she kisses his temple like a big sister and waves as she leaves. It’s a shame they can’t carpool, but Jim would be coming home at eight half the time anyhow so it’s not really a surprise. Jim has enough time for a second cup of coffee so he takes advantage, watching the morning news as he sips the Sumatra. 

The world sounds like it’s going to hell, Jim notes as he looks at his Twitter feed. Meanwhile the televised news is all about a celebrity divorce, which is annoying. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme except to them and their kids. The election is vastly more important, as is Aleppo and everything else. Jim snorts at his cynicism, washes his mug, and heads to work. 

He doesn’t know where to park, though, and he drives around until he sees there’s a way behind the store. He pulls in behind the dealership, seeing a bunch of cars with dates written on their back windows. There are empty spaces though, and Jim parks his Civic Si in one by the back door. 

He opens it, walking in. Music plays in the background, inoffensive pop, and Jim walks around to the front where he sees the glass office. Leonard McCoy sits at the left desk looking at something very intently. 

Jim knocks on the glass once. 

Leonard looks up at him with a smile, and Jim’s knees go weak. Leonard steps through the door in a Pre-Owned polo shirt and a pair of khaki slacks. The shirt is black and highlights his rugged handsomeness. Jim almost swallows his tongue.

“We have a trainer coming here when she gets in,” Leonard answers Jim’s unasked question. “We call her Number One.”

“Does she have a name?” Jim can’t help but ask.

“For all intents and purposes, that _is_ her name,” Leonard replies. “Don’t try to call her anything else.”

Duly noted. “Okay.”

Leonard puts his hand on his shoulder, and Jim’s body warms at least three whole degrees. He also notices Leonard doesn’t smell like Axe or anything gross like most guys; he smells like a bit of bay rum. “Come. You need to pick out a desk.”

They walk to the showroom floor, and in turn Leonard points. “Hikaru,” he says at the first desk overlooking the lot. “Scotty,” he says to the next one. “Spock,” he says to the third. “M’Ress,” he says to the fourth. “This one isn’t spoken for,” he says with a gesture at the fifth. “Neither are these,” he points to all the rest. 

Jim sits at the fifth. “I don’t...I mean, I haven’t had a desk in a long time. No personal effects.”

Leonard checks his watch---it’s nice, silver with a blue face, but Jim can’t see anything more than that. “I think Number One said she’d meet with you between ten and eleven so if you want to run to Target and get some, you can.”

Jim blinks. “Wait seriously? I can just...go to Target?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna just be sitting around for an hour and a half. Busy as summer is, it’s not so busy we have tons of customers before noon.” Leonard shrugs and smiles. “Go get some stuff to make your desk yours. And if you go to the Apex Target with the Starbucks in it, get me a vanilla latte with skim milk.” Leonard hands him five dollars.

“Okay,” Jim says, and he goes. He backs out of his space, shifts into gear, and drives to the Target. He heads to the office supplies and buys file organizers, push pins, paper clips, and pens. He realizes pens are important in his new line of work, much like they are in serving. Only this time he buys the nice ones instead of the crappy, cheap ones.

Jim gets himself a dry capp and Leonard his latte, and with full hands he heads back to work. The trip killed forty minutes, and Jim brings the coffee to his boss. He also hands him his change. Leonard takes a sip and sighs with pleasure, Jim’s knees going weak again because his brain goes to a 100% unprofessional place with that sound. 

“Thanks,” Leonard says with a grin.

“You’re welcome,” Jim says as he sips his cappuccino. He feels awkward so he turns.

“Hey wait,” Leonard says. “What team do you want to be on?”

“Team?” Jim asks.

“Yeah, which days do you want to have as your lates?” Leonard asks again. He pulls out a month calendar with names written on the days. “You need to pick all your days off for this month anyhow. What team? A or B?”

Jim looks at the calendar and then he looks in the showroom; Hikaru and the bowl cut guy are here. He looks down at the sheet---they’re listed as A Team. Tomorrow they come in at eleven. “A Team. Then I can get a van and blow up people stealing from the disadvantaged.”

Leonard snickers. “You’re not old enough to remember that show.”

“Try me,” Jim says with a smirk. “1980.”

Leonard looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “1974.”

Older than he looks, then, Jim notes, though age ain’t nothing but a number. He picks out his days off for the month, going with a Monday for one so he can have a weekend. 

Jim leans against his desk, his butt resting on the pine. Leonard pulls out a catalogue and hands it to Jim. “What’s this?”

“Do you have tattoos on your arms, like below where short sleeves would cover?” Leonard asks.

“Oh, no, I’m not inked at all,” Jim answers. Not for lack of desire, he thinks, just lack of ideas.

“Good, that makes your life a lot easier,” Leonard replies. “I’m inked, but not on my arms. It’s why I can wear the polo...I don’t know if Chris told you, but visible tatts are right out. I’m giving you this catalogue to pick your colors for your five shirts. You get five polos and five long sleeve shirts, any other clothing or extras come out of your draw checks.”

Jim decides not to worry about long sleeves as it’s July, and North Carolina feels like a swamp. A horrid swamp, like the sad one that kills Artax in _The Neverending Story_. Jim gets diverted for a second via his childhood crush on Atreyu. Then he thumbs through the polo catalogue which is dog-eared. He picks the royal and navy blues, the hot pink (shut up, it’s a great color on him), the sunshine yellow, and the white. He makes note of his size and hands it back to Leonard. 

Leonard’s eyebrow rises. “Hot pink,” he says.

Jim shrugs. “It’s flattering.”

Leonard looks up at him, and for the life of him, Jim can’t read the look in his eyes. “I bet it is,” he says. His tone is weird---it’s something both professional and not, and Jim's face turns red to his confusion. “Well anyways, they’ll be here in a week. It takes a few days for the logo to get embroidered on them.”

“So can I wear plain polos in the meanwhile?” Jim wants to go back to Target.

Leonard’s smile is rueful. “Afraid not. Shirt and tie, shirt and blazer, or company shirt.”

“Damn,” Jim leans back against the desk with a not-small amount of melodrama. “Can I go ahead and order my long sleeved ones? It’ll be fall before we know it.”

“Yeah sure, it’s the other folded-down page,” Leonard answers. 

Jim thumbs to it, noticing how nice the shirts seem. It occurs to him that Marcus Inc. is spending a not inconsiderate amount of money on his hiring, and after having to buy his own uniforms for so long, he’s amazed at the generosity. He picks a light sky blue and navy, white, black, and mustard yellow for the long sleeved. “I am both a summer and a winter.”

Leonard takes the post-it from him. He gives Jim a long look. “Yeah.”

Jim again flushes from his attention, but whether that’s on him or there’s actually something there is anyone’s guess. He goes to say something to cut the tension when a woman with long dark brown hair comes into the room. She’s no-nonsense and serious. “Len? Your novice?”

“Right here,” says Leonard. Jim wonders if he can call him Len. “Number One, this is Jim Kirk.”

Oh. Jim reaches out a hand, and she shakes it. She’s in a Honda polo and a pair of no-nonsense slacks with a sensible pair of Diesel flats. She’s pretty, Jim notes, with pale blue eyes and high cheekbones. She’s pretty, but she’s not warm. “Hi,” Jim tries. 

“Come with me,” she says as she heads out of the office. Leonard gives Jim a helpless shrug, and he follows her. She stops midway in the room, near the black Infiniti they have on the floor. “Which desk?”

“That one,” Jim says as he points to the one with the yellow file organizer. Number One nods and they walk over. 

She sits at the chair opposite him behind the desk. Jim follows her lead. “So, you have no experience.”

It comes out like an insult. Jim winces. “No ma’am.”

Number One seems to relax. “Good. The less experience, the better. Marcus has a specific method we follow, and it’s easier to start fresh than to throw out existing knowledge. Have you bought a car before?”

“Yeah, I bought my current car two years ago,” Jim answers. “My car since high school finally died.” It had been a good car, Jim laments for a moment. It was a Dodge Neon sport, 16 valve dual overhead cam. He’d loved it. It’d had a stick, of course, so he replaced it with a Civic Si he got at a dealership in North Raleigh.

He loves his Civic Si, but his dream is a BMW M3. One day, he promises himself. 

“You should have waited,” Number One says. “Now you get any car you buy at cost.”

“I uh couldn’t have,” Jim points out. “My car died to the point where the repair totaled it.”

“Well,” Number One says. She seems like she has no answer. “I guess that’s fair. What’d you replace it with?”

“A Civic Si.” 

“At least it’s a Honda,” she quips. She smiles, but it’s a bit chilly, and Jim wonders why she’s the trainer. “Well, today we’re going to go over the process behind selling. How Marcus does things is a bit different than how others do, and we’re pretty strict. Follow our procedures, and you’ll be successful.”

Jim nods.

Number One hands him a piece of paper: it’s his log-on credentials for the computer and for something called AEROS. It also has his company email address. Jim makes a note to give it to his mom and brother in case they need to reach him. 

“First, what’s your cell number?” Number One asks. “We need it for your business cards.”

“I think I’d rather give my cell out depending on the customer,” Jim answers. It’s the truth...something about everyone having his personal cell makes him uneasy. It’s like borrowing trouble. “The company email should be sufficient.”

“Makes sense,” Number One says. She sends a text message on her Galaxy Note. 

“That’s not gonna explode is it?” Jim asks, eyeing her phone warily.

“No this is a 6, the explosions are the 7,” Number One replies. She finally seems amused and loose with a real smile on her lips. “Turn on your computer and log on to AEROS.”

Jim does.

“We’re going to work a deal, it’s a multi-step process.” Number One’s still smiling. “The first step is greeting the customer. A ‘hello, how are you today’ is fine. Be friendly but not insincere.”

Jim nods. Pretty standard.

“The next is determining their needs. If they tell you they need something better on gas, or if they came in for a specific car, then show them what they need. Have about three cars if they’re not sure of what they’re looking for.”

Jim nods a second time.

“Then there’s the demo,” Number One says. “You know it as a test drive. I’ll show you the route in a bit. Step four is the appraisal, and sometimes you skip it. It’s when you appraise their trade in. Sometimes there is no trade so it’s omitted. Step five is working the deal, and step six is the delivery.” Number One looks at Jim. “Any questions?”

“Not so far,” Jim replies.

“Go walk the lot and pick out a car, get its stock number,” Number One says. “Come in and get the keys.”

Jim goes to the lot and picks out a black BMW 3-series. He memorizes the stock number and heads back inside. Then he goes to the computer up against an electronically locked filing cabinet, realizing he can’t get into it. “Um…” 

A whiff of bay rum fills his nose. “What, you can’t psychically open Key Track?” asks Leonard.

Jim laughs. “Today’s an off day.”

Leonard gestures for him to move aside, and he opens the admin panel, creating username Jim K. Then he tells Jim to pick a password. Jim does, and then once it’s saved, Leonard goes back to the log-on screen. Jim logs in, and he enters the stock number. A drawer opens and he gets the keys in the spot the screen tells him. 

“Let me see your license,” Number One requests. Jim hands it to her, and she copies it at the Xerox machine in the corner. 

She gestures at him to follow her into the office. She grabs a dealer plate on a magnet that’s stuck to a small filing cabinet. “We’re borrowing this, Leonard.”

“No problem,” he says. “I ordered you one already, Jim. Should be here in a few days.”

“Oh, thanks,” Jim answers.

Number One gestures for Jim to follow her, and she unlocks the car. After attaching the plate where a license plate usually goes, she gets in the driver’s side. Jim sits in the passenger’s seat, buckling up his seat belt. 

Number One takes him out of the dealership, taking a left turn at a stop sign before pulling over in a wide shoulder. “Okay, let’s switch.”

Jim adjusts the mirrors and seat for his taller frame. He pulls back onto the road driving straight. She tells him, after several miles, to turn right. Then after another couple of miles, they come to an intersection with the highway, and he turns right again. 

“This is time where you want to be talking,” Number One explains. “Ask them how the car feels, if they notice anything they like or dislike. Like what do you like about this?”

“It’s very smooth,” Jim says as he accelerates to highway speed. It’s fast for a sedan, the engine purring as he gets up to 70 MPH. “This drives just like I always daydreamed it would.”

He realizes he has hearts for eyes as she directs him to turn back onto the road leading to the dealership. He pulls back into its space and turns off the ignition. Number One gives him a smile. “You know, we can always see what your trade is on your car for real.”

Jim flushes. “Erm…”

Number One leads him back into the store. He drops the Bimmer’s keys on his desk. “Now we appraise your trade.” She holds out a hand, and Jim passes her his keys. Number One has a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it. The paper has a diagram of a car and several checkpoints all over it. 

Number One walks around his car, marking on the diagram where there are marks or dings. She gets inside the car and turns it on. She opens and closes the sunroof, listens to the radio, makes notes about the upholstery. Jim feels judged, causing him to frown and furrow his brows.

“Be thorough and nitpicky,” Number One explains. “We can’t make money if we’re nice about the trade.”

Jim understands, but he still feels like his car is being unfairly picked on. Number One points to the passenger seat and Jim sits in it, feeling weird since it’s his car. She backs out of the space, taking him on the same route they took for the demo. 

“You may want to do things like pump the breaks,” she says as she does it. “Or gun the engine to see how it handles.”

Jim white-knuckles his passenger door. He hates it when other people drive his car, but especially the way she’s treating the Civic right now. They pull back up to the store and she parks his car in the row for customers. They get out, Number One keeping the keys. She hands them and the sheet of paper to Leonard, who picks up a palm-sized computer.

Number One and Jim sit at his desk, with both of them behind the computer. Number One inputs the car’s stock number, and AEROS puts in the sticker price. She puts in Jim’s VIN. “How much is your pay off?”

“I don’t know offhand,” Jim answers. He takes the keyboard and logs onto Wells Fargo. He clicks the link for a ten day pay off and puts into AEROS that he owes $10,451.63. 

Number One nods. “We won’t put any money down, for the sake of this exercise. But if the person is using a down payment, that goes in this field.” She points to the screen. Jim glances up to see Leonard walking out of the office to his car. “So let me ask you something...if we can sell you the Bimmer at $19500 will you do business with us today?”

Jim blinks. “Oh I don’t---”

“Relax, Jim,” Number One says with a smile. “That’s just the wording you use to get a customer to commit to a number. No matter how ridiculous the offer, submit it. It’s worth a shot.”

Number One points to another area of the offer screen. “Here is where we tell them how much their payments will be. The rate is just a default rate for used cars. We can’t give a real one until we pull a person’s credit report.” Number One opens her clipboard and pulls out a piece of paper in triplicate. “Here’s the credit app, go ahead and fill it out. We’re not going to do anything with it, but I want you to familiarize yourself.”

Jim takes one of his new Target pens and fills it out. He omits his social, though, just in case. He also leaves income blank because he doesn’t actually know what his new one is.

Number One pulls up a notes field. _Customer will do business at $19500 for ours and $12000 for his._

Jim thinks that would be a generous offer. He nods, and she submits it. The screen grays out and begins to constantly refresh. Leonard comes back in from outside, sitting at his desk. Jim watches him for so long he doesn’t hear Number One talking at first. 

“---so what brought you from Iowa?” she finishes.

“Oh um,” Jim stammers. “My then partner got a job here, and I decided to come with for a new start. We broke up about ten months ago, but I decided to stay. There’s not much for me back in Riverside.”

Jim notices the music playing in the showroom. It’s the Eurythmics, “Here Comes the Rain Again,” and his gaze lands on Leonard when Annie Lennox sings that she “wants to dive into (his) ocean.”

A cash register noise rings out from his computer. The offer has been returned, but it’s not what they requested. Jim’s trade is marked at $10500, which he feels is low, and the car is at $21000. Number One pulls up the notes and reads them, Jim doing the same: _We appreciate Mr. Kirk’s offer, but we don’t carry that amount of markup in our vehicles._

“What do you want to counter with?” Number One asks.

“Well, KBB says my car should be worth about $11000,” Jim says.

“Kelly Blue Book is a loose guide,” Number One points out.

“I guess, but you’re low balling me,” Jim points out with a grimace.

Number One puts _$11000 for trade_ in the notes. “What else?”

“$20000 for the Bimmer,” Jim answers.

Number One types it in and submits it. The screen grays out and refreshes. After a few minutes it comes back again, with a different offer: $10750 for the trade, $20750 for the Bimmer. “Would this earn your business?” Number One asks.

It actually would, Jim notes. It’s not perfect, but his car is loan is paid off with a small bit of extra. “Yeah.”

Number One types _offer accepted_ and sends it. It comes back with a note in the middle of the main screen saying _Offer Accepted by Desk Manager Leonard McCoy_. “Always ask what will earn their business that day. You will have some people where nothing will, but always ask. You never know.”

“Got it,” Jim says. It’s sound advice.

Number One checks her watch. “If the deal is successful, you have the person fill out the paperwork. You also have to check their name against the Patriot Act. If they’re on it, they can’t buy.”

“Really?” Jim asks.

“Yes, sir,” Number One states. She clicks on Print in AEROS then selects about six documents. She picks up the copies of his license. “Your info’s up to date, right?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Jim folds his hands in his lap.

She enters it all into the system and then has him print a temporary insurance card. Then she prints everything, including the page of the Patriot Act his last name would be on, picks it up from the copier, and Jim signs all of it. “What’s a We Owe?”

“It’s for when the person buys a car on a condition,” Number One explains. “Say the Bimmer didn’t have a second key, and you wanted one. We’d put it on the We Owe since we can’t usually do things like that on a same day turnaround. It’s a good idea to check for things like spare keys and floor mats before working the deal. That way you can work the deal around those items, instead of having to lose money off your front end gross.”

“Ah okay,” Jim says. 

Number One writes N/A on the We Owe. “Then you take the deal to Leonard, who signs off on it and gives it to Nyota.”

“Nyota?” Jim asks.

A burgundy Honda Pilot pulls up in back of the dealership, and a few moments later, that beautiful woman from the day Jim interviewed walks in wearing a pair of black slacks, a burgundy short sleeved blouse, and a pair of black stiletto pumps. She unlocks a door next to the Key Track, tossing her long straight hair over her shoulder.

Number One points at her. “Nyota Uhura. She’s your F&I manager.”

“F&I?” Jim asks.

“When you bought your car, did you sit with a person who talked to you about your financing options and buying a warranty?” Number One supplies.

“Yeah,” Jim says.

Number One points at the woman again.

“Got it,” Jim answers. “Huh, this industry has more women than I thought it would.”

“Chris goes out of his way to hire us,” Number One answers. “And he’s usually right to do so. Nyota averaged 20 cars a month at Honda, and she got into F&I really quick as a result. Do well, and you’ll have a similar future, Jim.”

Jim thinks for a minute. Management appeals to him, as it has for a long time. He’d rather be a sales manager, he decides, than F&I. “But if I want to do what Leonard does---”

“You have to go through F&I school first,” Number One answers the incomplete question. “Once you’ve mastered F&I, you can move into Sales Management. That’s Marcus policy---we only promote from within.”

Good to know. Jim looks at Leonard, this time not because of his attraction but to imagine sitting where he is in the office, working deals and helping his team sell cars. He thinks of leading the store to record sales, winning awards and accolades, spoken approval from higher ups.

His goal crystallizes in that instant, and Jim smiles.


End file.
